


Catbread Undercover

by der_tanzer



Series: Catbread [9]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:01:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Catbread miracle at Motel Six.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catbread Undercover

Murray had himself under control when he climbed the stairs again, the note safely in his pocket. Nick and Cody were in the salon, exchanging nervous glances as if trying to decide who should go to him, and their relief at being let off the hook was tempered with worry at the light in his eyes. He looked happy, almost giddy, and that scared them more than they'd ever thought joy could.

"Murray, are you okay?" Nick asked.

"Yes," he said calmly. "Yes, I'm fine. Cody, can I borrow the Jimmy tonight?"

"Sure, Boz. Where are you going?"

"Nowhere. There's just something I have to do."

"Is—is it about the note?"

"Don't ask me about that, Nick. I won't answer, so please don't ask."

"All right," he said slowly. "I guess it's your business. Just, are you going to be okay?"

"Oh, yes, don't worry. I'm not sneaking out to throw myself off a cliff or anything. If I were going to do that, I would have done it weeks ago."

"That's not funny," Cody said sharply. "We've been worried sick all these months, and now you're—you're _happy_ all of a sudden, and—"

"No," he interrupted. "I'm not _happy_, Cody. I'm just a little less _unhappy_. And if you push this hard enough, you'll ruin it and I'll never forgive you. Now please, just let it go."

Cody shot Nick a look that said, quite plainly, _Never forgive us? What the hell? _ Nick just shrugged.

"All right, Murray. You do whatever you need to do and fill us in when you can," Nick said.

"I might not ever be able to tell you. I hope you understand."

"I don't," Cody said. "But I can accept it. Just be careful, okay?"

"I'm always careful," Murray grinned. They could see that he had lied about at least one thing. He really was happy. But the part about them ruining it was probably true. Murray had never said anything was unforgivable before.

***

At half past nine, Murray came up from his room again, freshly showered and dressed in his most casual jeans and t-shirt, with a soft flannel over-shirt. The only indication that this might be a special occasion was that he wasn't wearing a pocket protector and had only two pens in his shirt. Cody gave him the car keys, biting back a hundred questions that only multiplied when Murray went out the door and began to whistle as he walked away. They hadn't heard him do that for a very long time.

"What the hell is this?" Nick asked.

"I don't know. You think we can follow him without being spotted?"

"Maybe. But we'd better not try it. If he _did_ see us, he'd be furious."

"Yeah, but I have a bad feeling about this, Nick. Like it's got something to do with Quinlan. What if someone's trying to get to Murray by pretending he's still alive?"

"I thought of that, too. But who? Who wants Murray, and would also know to do that?"

"I don't know. I just really, really want to follow him."

"It's too late now, we don't even know which way he went."

"We should have gotten hold of that note somehow," Cody sighed.

"Sure, just held him down and taken it. That would have worked out great."

"Maybe he left it here."

"With two detectives who are desperate to know where he went," Nick said dryly. "Yeah, he probably did that."

"Well, I don't know. What do you think we should do?"

"Wait for him to come back. If he wants to tell us then, great. And if not, at least we'll know he's okay."

"And if he doesn't come back?" Cody snapped.

"He will. Or he'll call, at least. Come on, let's see what's on TV." Nick didn't suggest going to bed. They had to be up when Murray came home.

***

When he pulled into the parking lot of the Motel Six, Murray realized he didn't know which room to go to. He could hardly ask at the desk, and the idea of knocking on all those doors turned him cold. But maybe there was a clue. Something that no one else would look for or understand. He got out of the car and walked down the row to the far end, thinking that a man just back from the dead would want his privacy. And there, at the next room from the end was a quarter sheet of notepaper stuck in the window, bearing the same doodle as the note in his pocket. Catbread. Murray took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

The lights inside went out, darkening the window and throwing him into confusion. But he knew the voice from the other side of the door that asked who was there.

"Bozinsky," he said quietly, and the door opened. A rough hand grabbed his wrist and jerked him inside. The door slammed shut and he was pulled into a hug before he knew what was going on. He couldn't see, but he knew that body. A little thinner than he remembered, but still the same.

"Lieutenant," he whispered and was silenced with a kiss. It was all so familiar, the chapped lips, the gentle tongue, the scent of Skin Bracer, cool and crisp. Murray backed him against a dresser and began fighting with his clothes, pulling at Quinlan's belt, reaching under his shirt to feel smooth scars that had been ugly wounds the last time he saw them. There was a moment's resistance as Quinlan groped for the lamp, needing to see those warm brown eyes, and then they were hard at it again, stripping each other where they stood. The dresser was low and Quinlan boosted himself onto it, lining up their eyes and mouths and cocks. He wrapped his legs around Murray's hips, dug his fingers into the slender neck, and thrust against him desperately.

Murray braced one hand on the dresser and clung to his long lost lover with the other, leaning into him, bucking hard, wishing he could be inside. But that would take time to prepare and he felt like they'd waited long enough. Burying his face in Quinlan's neck, he bit and sucked, needing to brand him, to leave marks for whoever his man might be with tomorrow.

"Oh, kid, I missed you," he breathed, as if reading Murray's mind. The words hit him like a blow and he came hard, crying out softly, almost a sob. Then the other man was pushing him away, sliding off the dresser and leading him to the bed before he collapsed.

"You're not finished," Murray said inanely, folding himself into the sagging mattress.

"At my age, you only get one. I want it to last a little longer."

That sounded so much like his old Lieutenant that Murray almost laughed. This time it did become a sob, and Quinlan sat down to hold him.

"I'm sorry, kid. For all of this. I never wanted to hurt you."

"You let me think you were _dead_. _Everyone_ thinks so. Your son had a _funeral_."

"No, he didn't. They told him I was cremated and scattered out here, just like they told you I was being sent to New York."

"_Why_? And who's _they_? And why didn't you_ tell_ me? I thought you were _dead_." He was almost shouting now, but still crying, and Quinlan covered his mouth with one hand.

"Quiet, Bozinsky. I'll tell you everything I can, but you have to calm down."

He nodded and the restraining hand fell away, moved to his shoulder and hugged him hard.

"Come on, you're cold," he said softly, urging Murray under the covers. "You've lost weight."

"So have you."

"It's been a rough few months, kid, believe me." He lay down and held Murray to his chest, sighing with pleasure when the lithe fingers slid down his belly and began stroking his flagging erection.

"Yes, it has. So tell me why. They took you away at the hospital and then they told me you were dead. Did you know that was going to happen?"

"We planned it. I never had a blood clot. The doctor put it in the chart so I'd have an out. I planned it the best I could for you."

"The best—for me?"

"I couldn't have done it with you there, pretended to be dead in front of you. And if I'd sent you away, you'd think you should have been there. It would have eaten you up for the rest of your life. That ultrasound thing was the best we could come up with, to spare you a little."

"But _why_? Why did you have to be dead?"

"They didn't give me any choice. There were people after me. Remember that warehouse bust when I stepped on the nail and started all of this?"

Murray nodded, still stroking him lightly. He knew just how to do it so it would last all night.

"Some shit for brains at the DA's office screwed up and a bunch of those guys got off. They were released while I was in the hospital, and there was no doubt they were coming for me. It was my testimony that almost put them away, and they knew I'd do it again if the DA got a new case together. So the feds came down and asked me to help out with another smuggling sting in Mexico, some assholes bringing immigrant slaves into San Diego. I guess because I did such a good job on the last one. Only _asked_ isn't really the word for it. They made it pretty clear that I didn't have a choice if I wanted any protection at all. I didn't really care, a cop's life is dangerous, but there were some other things, too. Things I couldn't ignore."

"Like what?

"Like threats against you and your friends. Those dope peddlers were playing hardball, and no one was going to be safe as long as I was alive. I wanted to tell you but I couldn't. You needed to act—right. If you'd been too normal, not grieving, they'd have known."

"So you put me through absolute fucking hell, just to make sure I put on the right kind of show? Jesus, Lieutenant—" He was trying to be angry, he _was_ angry, but what came through in his voice was helpless betrayal.

"I know. But it was _for_ you. If they'd gone after you guys and I wasn't there—you'd all have been dead, just like that."

"So why now? Why tell me at all?"

"A couple reasons. One, those guys are back in jail. I'll be testifying against them in federal court in a couple of weeks. I have to stay underground until after that, and I'm still in on the smuggling investigation, so I don't know when I can come back up officially. But even without that—I saw you yesterday. I was in LA, meeting with a lawyer, so I came down and watched the pier for a while. I saw you on the boat, all skinny and sad, and I knew you weren't over it."

"Of course I wasn't. Lieutenant, three months isn't enough to stop being in love. Three years wouldn't be."

"Well, I didn't know for sure. I thought maybe Allen or Ryder would throw you a pity fuck and you'd take up with them. In a way, I hoped you would. I hated knowing you were hurting because of me."

"They looked after me," Murray said quietly, "but I never slept with either of them. They aren't like that, and neither am I."

"No, I know you're not. But I was hoping maybe I hadn't hurt you too bad after all. After I saw you, I had to try and make it up."

"Are—are you going to leave me again?"

"I have to. I have to go back to Mexico in the morning. But I'll come back, if you want. Or you can come down there. You travel a lot—probably no one will notice."

"You mean it? You don't want to get rid of me?"

"Kiddo, I'm risking my life to be here now. I never would have left if I'd had a choice. I'd have stayed in King Harbor and finished getting old with you if I could have."

"I love you, too," Murray sighed. "I just can't believe you let me think—for _three months_—that you were dead. That's so cruel."

"I know it is, baby," he whispered, the first time he'd ever called Murray that. "And believe me, I wouldn't have done it if they weren't planning to go after you. I could break your heart, I could give up my _own_ life, but I couldn't kill you. If you can't forgive that, I understand."

"Don't be stupid. Of course this is better than really being dead. It's just—it'll be hard to hide from the guys."

"You're gonna have to, at least for awhile. How'd you get out tonight?"

"I told them I was going out," he said simply. "They thought I was too happy, though. They asked a lot of questions, so I said if they snooped, they'd ruin it and I'd never forgive them."

"If that worked, they really are your best friends."

"That's what I was thinking. So—uh—are we going to talk all night, or are you going to fuck me?" He felt the cock in his hand grow harder and smiled.

"You still want to?"

"Isn't that what you've been saving it for?"

Quinlan rolled him over and kissed him, tasting sweet arousal. God, the kid was easy. He wondered if anyone else knew that, if he'd accepted comfort from somebody _not_ in a committed relationship, and pushed the thought away. It wasn't any of his business what Murray did after he gave him up.

He kissed his way down the thin body, biting and bruising, marking him for any future lover to see, aware that Murray had been doing the same. Murray groaned beneath him, then cried out sharply when the wet mouth enveloped his erection. There was a tube of K-Y close at hand and Quinlan slicked his fingers, spread the slender thighs and touched him lightly, giving him a chance to change his mind. After so much time had passed, he thought the kid might not trust him like he had before. And faking his own death was certainly no way to win anyone's confidence. But he was wrong. Murray trusted him as much as he ever had. His eager movements left no doubt of that.

Quinlan took it slow and easy, preparing him with great care. He hoped this wouldn't be the last time, but he intended to act like it was and make it as good as possible. He didn't stop until Murray was writhing and pleading to come, and even then it was only the beginning.

"Come here, kid," he said raggedly, sitting up and pulling Murray with him.

Obediently, he straddled the sturdy thighs and let the strong hands guide him into place. Arms around Quinlan's neck, he held on tight and whispered soft words of thanks as he pushed his lover into his body. Murray had been prepared to go the rest of his life without feeling this again, and now he wondered how he'd gone a single day.

***

They showered together and went to bed with every intention of sleeping, though neither was surprised when sleep didn't come. Quinlan lay on his back, holding Murray close, stroking his damp hair tenderly, listening to him breathe and trying not to ask the question that still bothered him. It _shouldn't_ bother him, he knew that. They were grown men, even if the kid did seem awfully like—well, a _kid_—so much of the time, and it was none of his business. But then Murray moved against him, so incredibly languid and sensuous in his sleepy, fucked-out state, the question escaped before he could stop it.

"You said you never slept with Ryder or Allen after I died. Does that mean you haven't been with anyone else?"

Murray raised his head and studied his lover's face carefully.

"Lieutenant, I'm offended," he said mildly and laid his head back down. "How would you feel if I asked you that?"

"Like shit. But I wouldn't blame you."

"Oh. So did you sleep with someone else while you were dead?"

"It's not the same. I knew I was still alive. All bets were off for you when they told you I wasn't."

"Maybe. But no, I never did. Cody set me up with a nice girl once, but—but all I could talk about was you. And I couldn't even say _the man I loved_. I kept talking about my _friend_ who died, and she didn't understand."

"So, you didn't go out with any men?"

"You're the only man I wanted. Now is that enough, or do I have to start interrogating you about your activities in Mexico?"

"Spent most of my time drinking," he shrugged, combing his fingers through Murray's hair. "Watching Clint Eastwood movies in Spanish and missing your idiotic chatter."

"I missed you, too. Hey, I have your cats in storage."

"Keep 'em. Cats don't travel well. What'd you do with the rest of that shit?"

"I kept some of it. Your badge and jewelry. The things that really reminded me of you. All the stuff from when you were married, I sent to your son. How come you never told me you had Purple Hearts?"

"I hope you didn't send those to my boy. Ungrateful little bastard would probably try to hawk 'em."

"No, I kept those, too. And we're using the breadbox at home. The guys never asked me where I got it or anything."

"They didn't help you empty the apartment?"

"I wouldn't let them. I didn't think you'd want them in your home, even if you were dead. You never did before."

"Thanks," was all he said, but he was deeply touched.

"I hated giving away that sofa, though. We sure had some good times on it, didn't we?"

"The memories are the important thing."

"I couldn't help noticing," Murray went on, "that one of the cats was missing. The one with the lab coat and taped glasses."

"It's in my suitcase. I knew you'd miss it, but I couldn't help it. One of the feds got it for me the day I died."

"I wondered about that. It seemed funny that you'd choose it instead of—well—anything else."

"It was what I wanted. And if I'd taken anything valuable, you'd have wondered why one thing was gone and not the rest. Short of ransacking the place, there wasn't much else I could've done."

Murray understood and nodded without speaking.

"Probably got rid of my clothes, too, didn't you?"

"Mostly. I kept that green shirt with the purple stripes, and that tan jacket you always wore. Sometimes I wear it," he confessed in a whisper. "It doesn't fit right, but sometimes it's the only thing that keeps me warm."

"Your head's as soft as your heart, Bozinsky."

"Yeah. Jesus, Lieutenant, I missed you so much." He was crying again and Quinlan's hands went to his face, catching tears on his fingers.

"I know you did. It was a miserable, shitty thing to do and I'm so fucking sorry…" He took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around Murray's head, stifling his sobs. "Just tell me this isn't making it worse. Tell me I didn't hurt you worse by coming back."

"No," Murray cried, struggling free and raising up on his hands, squinting to better see the other man's expression. "_No_. God, a thousand times, no. I—I _prayed_ for this. For just five minutes to say goodbye, if nothing else. You don't know how much that hurt, all the things I would have said if I'd known you weren't coming back that day."

"No, I know. I said as much as I could, but it was nowhere near what I _wanted_ to tell you. There was just no way, and I know that's no excuse. But don't cry, okay, kid? I can't handle that right now."

Murray nodded and lay down again, snuggling into Quinlan's bare chest with a sniffling sigh. After a moment, his chest stopped hitching and he wiped away the last of his tears with his hand.

"It's really in your suitcase?" he asked suddenly.

"I don't exactly have a home right now. Everything I own's in my luggage."

"Is that why you didn't take the breadbox?"

"Partly. Mostly, I wanted you to keep it, if you could. Eat some catbread toast and think of me."

"I think of you every day, Lieutenant. I always will."

"This isn't gonna last forever, you know. These guys are going to prison and I'll come home, if you still want me."

"I will. Don't ever worry about that."

Quinlan turned off the lamp and stroked Murray's thin body until he went to sleep.

***

The alarm woke them at four in the morning, well before dawn. It would be a long time before they saw each other again, and both knew they'd need time to say goodbye. Cuddles turned to kisses, which brought up an unexpected erection, too good to waste, and they made love quickly, one last time.

"Didn't think the old man had it in him," Quinlan said, rather smugly, on his way to the shower.

"Not so old," Murray said fondly, reaching for his clothes.

"After three hours sleep, I am." He was in and out of the shower in five minutes, just long enough to wash the semen from his belly and wake up a little. When he came back, Murray was dressed and sitting on the bed, looking dejected.

"What's the matter, kiddo?"

"I don't want you to go. I wish you could come back to the boat and just hide there."

"Not much of a life, though, is it? Cooped up below deck, afraid to show my face."

"No. But this sucks too."

"Yeah, Murray. It sucks a lot. But it's just a few more months. You can do that, if you want to. You're a determined guy."

"It's one of my defining characteristics," he said bravely.

"One of my favorites. Look, you said you have my jewelry, right?" Murray nodded and he went on. "All of it? The whole box?"

"Yes, of course."

"Have you looked at it?"

"Not really. I—I never quite felt strong enough."

"Well, take a look when you get home. There's a ring in there that's different from the others. Gold, and a little smaller, with some engraving inside. See if you can find it, okay?"

"Sure. But how will I get it to you?"

"I don't want it, kid. Just find it."

"All right," he said, clearly mystified.

Quinlan was packing up his things and hardly spared him a glance, but inside, he was smiling. Puzzling Bozinsky still put him in a good mood.

Then headlights flashed in the window and he picked up his suitcase, slinging a duffel bag over his shoulder.

"That's my ride, kid. I gotta go. You take care of yourself and I'll get in touch when I can."

Murray nodded, knowing that he would cry if he tried to speak, and swiftly kissed him goodbye. Quinlan gave him one last smile and stepped out the door. Murray heard a car door slam, an engine rev, and then tires crunched on gravel. Alone, he sat down on the bed and wept.

***

Nick and Cody were sleeping on the bench in the salon when he got home, leaning against each other for support in the fight to stay vertical. Murray closed the door as quietly as he could but they both woke. Nick was on his feet before Cody had his eyes fully open and he fell over before he could catch himself. He got up and they converged on Murray in a way that would have been threatening to anyone else.

"Where the hell have you been?" Nick shouted, concern sounding like anger. "It's five in the morning and you didn't even call. We've been sitting here all night, worried sick—"

"Hey, Nick, calm down," Cody said, stretching and rubbing his eyes. "I'm sure Murray'll tell us if you give him a chance."

"No, Cody, I can't. I'm sorry. But I filled your gas tank on the way home, if that helps. Now I'm going to bed. I'm exhausted."

"Murray, wait," Nick called after him. He stopped and turned back, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other while he waited for his friend to speak. "Did you at least have a good time?"

"Oh, yes. I had a wonderful time. In fact, I'll probably do it again someday. Goodnight, guys. Don't wake me for breakfast, okay?"

"Sure, Boz," Cody said, knowing there was no point in trying to discuss it further.

Murray went down to his cabin and closed the door carefully before turning on the light. Quinlan's small leather jewelry box was under his mattress and he got it out, then sat down on the bed to open it. Most of the rings were silver and the gold one stood out at once. He'd noticed it before, thought it must have belonged to Lorna, and not looked too closely for that reason. But when he turned it to look inside, he understood. Engraved in tiny script, it said Q-B '85. Murray slipped it onto the ring finger of his right hand and folded it into a fist as he curled up on the bed. A few minutes later, he was fast asleep.


End file.
